


worth saving

by memitims



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-07
Updated: 2014-09-07
Packaged: 2018-02-16 10:31:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2266398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/memitims/pseuds/memitims
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>some guy at the club is hitting on mickey and ian comes to the rescue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	worth saving

**Author's Note:**

> this was a prompt from [second-rate-handjobs](http://second-rate-handjobs.tumblr.com/). i hope this is somewhat close to what you wanted :)

The neon lights of the club bounced around Ian’s head and his eyes tracked around the room, looking for Mickey. He’d gone to see if they needed any help at the bar and when he’d turned around, Mickey had disappeared. He scanned the crowd, but Mickey wasn’t tall enough to be picked out among the rest of the guys here. Ian squinted and kept looking, because he’d never fucking hear the end of it if he abandoned Mickey in the middle of the club.

He got lucky when his eyes fell on the other end of the bar.

Some guy had cornered him against the bar and Mickey looked half uncomfortable and half like he was about to punch the guy out. He wasn’t touching Mickey, but he was leaning his arms on either side of him, smiling down at Mickey’s face. He was obviously flirting, Ian could tell all the way over from here, but Mickey seemed as grouchy as ever. The guy was either completely clueless, or he had a fucking death wish. He looked young, no older than either of them, and he would actually be kinda cute if Ian had eyes for anyone but Mickey anymore.

The guy moved closer and Ian felt a bolt of jealousy run through him. It was stupid and insecure, but Ian couldn’t help it. The scars of the past had healed over - when their relationship was still fragile and undefined and they couldn’t say that they wanted each other and no one else - but sometimes they still hurt.

Ian slipped over to Mickey, ignoring a few customers that called out his fake name. He had more important things to deal with at the moment. He came up behind them, trying to catch Mickey’s eye, but he was too busy side-eying the flirting guy to look over at Ian.

“So, do you come here often?” the guy was asking, because of course he was a total tool. Ian giggled a little under his breath as he moved closer.

“Fuckin’ unfortunately,” Mickey muttered.

“What, you don’t like it here?” Mr. Cheesy Pick-up Line looked confused.

Mickey narrowed his eyes and opened his mouth, presumably to say something angry or rude or grouchy about exactly what he thought of the club, but Ian cut him off before he could.

“Excuse me,” he said, gently shoving past the guy to stand next to Mickey, pressing their shoulders together. He slung his arm behind Mickey. “You’d probably have better luck elsewhere.”

The guy frowned and looked like he was about to say something, but decided against it and turned on his heel, stalking away angrily.

Mickey turned his head to face Ian. “Get your arm off me, you freak,” he said, instead of thank you like a normal person would, but Ian knew what he really meant. Mickey wasn’t that hard to read if you just took the time to figure him out. No one had really thought that time was worth sparing, before Ian, and that made Ian really sad, because Mickey was something really fucking special, he was worth the extra time.

Ian didn’t remove his arm and Mickey didn’t say anything else about it.

“That guy seemed nice,” laughed Ian.

Mickey rolled his eyes. Ian watched the bright lights bounce off his face and quirked up his mouth in a smile. Mickey could probably see how fucking in love Ian was with him, Ian knew it was written all over his face, but he couldn’t help it. He looked at Mickey and the world seemed to make sense, he looked at Mickey and it didn’t matter that his brain was screwed up and his family was a mess and he didn’t know what he was doing with his life anymore. He looked at Mickey and he knew, somewhere deep down, that everything would work out alright, because he saw the same shit reflected back in Mickey’s eyes.

Mickey looked at him and Ian looked back and it felt a little like flying.

“Talked more than you do. Jesus. I didn’t know that was possible.”

“I don’t know,” Ian said. “Have you ever met my sister, Debbie?”

Mickey knocked his head gently against the side of Ian’s, and it was so fucking affectionate that Ian couldn’t breathe for a moment. “Debbie’s different,” he teased. “I actually like listening to her voice.”

“Ouch,” said Ian. He leaned down and pressed his mouth against Mickey’s ear, and Mickey squirmed when Ian’s breath brushed against his earlobe. “However, I do recall you telling me the exact opposite the other night when the house was empty, and you told me to be a little  _louder_.”

“Shit, Ian,” Mickey whined. “Don’t do that. It’s not fair. You still have an hour left of your shift.”

Ian grinned wickedly. “I like getting you worked up.”

Mickey flipped him off affectionately, and he was probably the only fucking person in the world that could even do that. No one else could make ‘fuck you’ seem so romantic. He was definitely a keeper.

\---

“Fucking hate this place,” Mickey muttered under his breath, when Ian’s shift was finally over and they stepped out into the cold night, bundling up their jackets and stuffing their fingers into gloves.

Ian puffed out a breath, watching the air turn white and then disappear. “I quit,” he said. “Tonight was my last night.”

Mickey raised his eyebrows. “You serious?”

Ian nodded. It hadn’t gone over with his manager very well, but Ian wanted out of the job and it’s not like the guy could actually stop him. He didn’t want to be here anymore, he didn’t want to be touched by strangers’ hands and he didn’t want to listen to anymore ear-splitting music and he didn’t want the drugs.

He just wanted to be home with Mickey.

“Let’s get out of here.”

\---

They couldn’t keep their hands off each other once they reached the Milkovich front porch, and Mickey fumbled with the key distractedly as Ian pulled off his scarf and kissed the warm skin of Mickey’s neck.

“So goddamn slow,” Ian panted against his neck, when Mickey missed the keyhole for the third time, his hands shaking partly from the cold and partly from the adrenaline rush of Ian’s touch.

“Give me a fucking break,” Mickey growled, and he dropped the key and turned around, grabbing Ian by the shoulders, spinning him so his back was against the door. Ian let out an  _oomph_  of surprise and trailed his fingers down Mickey’s face, latching them behind his ears. Mickey leaned in and kissed Ian, long and hard, before pulling away and reaching towards the ground to grab the key. Ian stood there, stupidly, breathing heavily while Mickey finally slid the key into the lock and pushed open the door. He staggered backwards into the house, and Mickey was on him again as soon as the door was closed behind them.

“Mickey,” Ian breathed against his mouth in the darkness of the living room, and they paused for a second to remove their coats and gloves and hats and throw them over the back of the couch. Svetlana would have a fit if she found all their stuff strewn across the front hall, and an angry Svetlana was literally terrifying.

They stumbled their way into the bedroom, clothes falling to the floor quickly and landing in a messy heap. Luckily, Svetlana didn’t care if their bedroom was a mess; the only time she actually came in there was to yell at them about miscellaneous Gallaghers siblings showing up at the front door.

The pace changed once they actually got undressed, they fucked slowly, and Ian spread his hands all over Mickey’s body, trying to touch as much skin as possible. They rocked their hips together in rhythm, and Ian touched Mickey’s face and captured his little moans and grunts with his mouth, and petted his hair with one hand and stroked down Mickey’s cock with the other.

“Ian,” Mickey said. “You - you’re. I don’t -  _Fuck_ , Ian.”

Ian snapped his hips upward and the rhythm got faster, and suddenly it was a race to the finish line as they held onto each other tightly.

“Mickey,” Ian heard himself moan, “Mickey,” before they came, close together, and collapsed against the bed, every breath wracking their chests where they were pressed against each other. Ian felt Mickey’s heartbeat - fast and jumpy and fragile - against his skin.

Mickey laid his head on Ian’s chest, nuzzling against his neck and pressing his mouth to the skin above Ian’s collarbone. Ian brought his hand upwards and threaded it through Mickey’s hair.

They didn’t say anything for a few minutes, they just let their wandering fingers and soft kisses and shiny eyes do the talking.

Mickey coughed and broke the silence, his lips moving against the bright flush spreading across Ian’s skin. “Thanks for saving me from that guy at the bar.”

Ian nodded. He heard Mickey’s throat click in the silence, his hands running nervously down Ian’s sides.

“Thanks for saving me,” Mickey said. “In general.”  
Ian felt his chest tighten, because Mickey didn’t usually say shit like that, Ian knew that and got used to it and accepted it, but that didn’t mean it still made something inside Ian melt when he did.

“Oh,” he whispered. “Yeah.” Ian pressed his nose into Mickey’s hair. “I think you did a lot of that yourself, though.  _Jeez_ , Mickey, you’re like the strongest person I know.”

Mickey didn’t say anything back. He just curled around Ian and closed his eyes.

 _We saved each other_ , Ian thought.  _We lost each other and we saved each other and we saved ourselves and I’m so fucking in love with everything you are that I can’t breathe sometimes._  He wanted to say that out loud, but the words were stuck in his throat.

He knew they’d find their way out, eventually.


End file.
